


Strong men win at violence and abuse

by human_behavior



Category: Burzum (Band), Mayhem (Band)
Genre: Euronymous stumbles into rape, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Violence, happens to the best of us
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:35:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29985036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/human_behavior/pseuds/human_behavior
Summary: Varg comes knocking on Euronymous's door in the middle of the night, and I mean the rest is to be expected really.
Relationships: Euronymous | Øystein Aarseth/Varg Vikernes
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Strong men win at violence and abuse

“Are you gonna let me in or not?”

Øystein stared in awe at the smug asshole standing in front of him, arms crossed, leaning on his balcony doorway. He should have fucking known. Who the _fuck_ else would start banging on his door at 11:45pm? Of course it's Varg. Noone else could possibly be entitled enough to pull this kind of shit, hell, he might’ve even found it funny if he wasn't so deliriously sleep deprived.

He groaned and scrubbed at his eyes. _God I am waayyy too tired for this shit._

“What the fuck are you doing here man?” He glared as the kid brushed past tracking in mud along with him. ”I thought you were supposed to be back in Bergen.” He’d hoped living on the opposite side of the country would _decrease_ the amount of whining he’d be subjected to... not up the ante to “uninvited drop ins”.

“I was, and I still _am_. Oslo sucks! It always has! Honestly I have no idea how you're all still able to live here...” Apparently Varg found no issue making himself at home. He walked through his apartment without hesitation, shrugging off his bag and winter jacket, plopping down on his leather sofa, and tossing his First Edition D&D 2E Advanced player's handbook on his coffee table.

_Great… he even brought his own entertainment._

Øystein sighed in defeat and shut the door behind him. Clearly he wasn't getting the sleep he’d been planning on tonight.

_Maybe I should just bite the bullet and go sleep in my car._

“-But I just so happened to be in the area on some business, so I thought I might as well drop by here and discuss some things before my train arrives...” Varg continues, leaning over to curiously flip through an unmarked binder of label documents that had been left on the coffee table earlier that day.

He takes in the younger boy's appearance. He looks skinnier now... taller... (much to his displeasure). His usual black jeans and oversized sweater combo look like they actually fit him for once.

 _His hair has grown out too since the last time I saw him..._ He let his eyes trail down. _It's almost all the way down to his waist now..._

Øysteinn quickly clears his throat and shifts his gaze away nervously.

 _God, what the fuck is wrong with me._ Apparently he was more delirious than he’d originally thought.

He stalks over and snaps the binder shut, making sure to kick it far away from Varg’s snooping fingers as an extra precaution. Øystein hadn't seen the kid in weeks and he was already poking his nose into shit he didn't belong in.

“Alright alright, I get it. So what did you want from me then, hmm?” He slumps down next to Varg and prods his messy coffee table in hopes of a much needed smoke.

The question was a courtesy more than anything. They both know exactly what Varg wants, because it's the same thing he _always_ wants, just like they both know it's the exact same answer he's _always_ gonna receive.

_If I'd known he’d be such a whiny bitch about it I wouldn’t have signed him in the first place…_

Varg was more manageable when they first met. He was still arrogant and obnoxious, sure, but it was tolerable, pitiable, maybe even cute... you know, in that naive teenager sort of way, following him around everywhere like a lost puppy… But that was faaar in the past now. _Now_ he’s gotten a taste for his own recognition. He's self entitled, demands shit, throws tantrums when he doesn't get his way… And recently he’s taken it a step further by insisting they’re on the same level all because of his stupid stunt with the media…

“Well?” Øystein asks as he strikes a match, his words bobbing the cigarette trapped between his teeth as he lights it.

He sees Varg scrunch up his nose and frown in his peripheral and he chuckles to himself. _For all the big game Varg’s been talking he really hasn't grown up much since he was 15._

“It’s Aske.”

“Right.”

“You still haven't paid me the full 70% you owe me-”

“Mm.”

“-like you said you would three months ago.”

Yep. Here we go again.

He exhales and closes his eyes against the all too familiar headache he felt coming on.

“What the fuck do you want me to do about it Varg? You _know_ I don’t have any money to pay you-”

“I don't want you to pay me 70%, I want you to pay me in FULL, and I want the rest of my records and a total release of the contract.”

“Hah right.” Øystein snorts, leaning forward to flick his cigarette over an empty mug on the coffee table.

He waits. Silence. He tilts his head back over his shoulder, and sure enough, Varg is still there (unfortunately) staring at him expectantly with his mouth turned down, drumming his fingers against the arm of the couch.  
Oh.

_Oh he’s being serious._

“You want me to pay you in full… give you all the records… and a total release from your contract.” He repeated back incedulously. “You do realise how retarded that sounds right? I OWN those records, I paid for those to be made, not you. So why the _fuck_ would I give them all to you for free?”

A smirk twitches on Varg’s face and his eyes dart to the scar on his chin. It twists up ugly everytime he smirks like that and Øystein has the sudden urge to dig his nails in and tear it open.

“Because _I_ am the one who did all the promotion for that album, not you, all you've done is hoard them in your little store, which _you_ decided to close, not anyone else, _you_. Clearly you're not going to sell them so I’m taking them and selling them myself, like I should have done in the first place mind you! You're an idiot for shutting down Helvete Øystein, if anything you should be paying ME for those records, they’d be selling better than any other band you’ve signed and you fucking know it!” Varg’s voice gets tinny and scratchy whenever he’s all emotional like this. Him and Faust have this ongoing theory that the only reason people give in to his demands is to get him to shut up.

“That's what you came here in the middle of the night for? To whine about me shutting down Helvete?” Øystein scoffed and stubbs out his cigarette.  
“You begged me to put you on the label, just because you're getting a bunch of attention now doesn't negate that fact.”

“ ** _I want my records Øystein!_** ” Now he’s just working himself up, shouting and flailing his arms around like a toddler in the midst of a temper tantrum. “Those belong to _me_ , I dont care what any fucking contract says, they’re MINE, _my_ music, _my_ albums! You don't have the right to lock them away just because you're pissed at me, they aren't yours to hoard. They are _mine_ and I’ll take them by force if I have to!”

“Alright no, that's it. Get the fuck out, I’m not in the mood for this shit.” He stands up and grabs the boy by the arm, lifting him off the couch. He doesn't have the energy to handle another one of Varg’s diva acts right now.

Varg shoves him off, clearly fuming.

“What are you gonna do huh? Take me to court over it? _Kill me?_ You can't do anything to me Euronymous! You aren't our ‘oh great feared leader’ anymore- you're nothing but a bitter guitarist with a broken band and a shitty label. You're weak! Pathetic! You couldn’t hurt me if you _tried!_ ” He seethes and steps forward into Øystein’s face.

“-But it's not like any of that matters after all, since you'd be too much of a _pussy_ to actually do anything yourself as per usual anyways.” He shoves Øystein square in the chest once before turning to leave.

And that’s it.

Øystein’s patience snaps.

He grabs Varg by the hair and yanks _hard_ , sending him flying backwards into the leather sofa with a yelp and a loud “OOMPHF!”

Varg flails and scrambles to get up, but Øystein’s having none of that, kicking him down to the floor before he gets the chance to recalibrate.

“You never fucking listen Varg! Can’t keep your stupid fucking mouth still for two seconds!” He grabs Varg by the collar of his sweater and pins him against the couch.

“For once in your life, you should take someone else’s advice and _learn to shut the fuck up_!”

“LET ME GO ØYSTEIN!! I DON'T WANNA HEAR THIS SHIT FROM YOU!!!” Unable to loosen the grip on his shirt he slips out of it entirely, freeing himself long enough to make a break for it and run.

It doesn't last long though. Øystein tackles him from behind and they're both sent sprawling across the dirty kitchen floor.

It becomes obvious to both of them very quickly that neither of them actually know how to fight. As soon as they hit the floor they merge into an ugly pool of limbs, each separately kicking and swinging with zero tactical foresight or coordination. The narrow kitchen doesn't help either, forcing them to roll around from side to side in the same few square feet of 60’s flower linoleum. Wearing the other out looks like more of an effective battle strategy than inflicting any actual damage.

That is until Varg gets lucky and elbows Øystein’s nose hard enough to crack.

“ _FUCKK!!_ ” He whips his head back and slams against the cabinet doors behind him. Everything goes blurry. He reaches up to feel his face and hisses. The pain is sharp and searing, already swelling up fat and pulsing with blood.  
“YOU- YOU BROKE MY FUCKING NOSE YOU BITCH!!”  
Something metallic rustles and snaps his attention. He lifts his head up and catches Varg straining to reach into the knife drawer above him. _Oh fuck no._  
Adrenaline hits him like a train. He slams into the boy’s torso, knocking the wind out of him, and they tumble back into a heap on the floor.

He’s exhausted but knows there isn't much time before Varg’s shock wears off. He moves quick, straddling him, pinning Varg’s arms above his head and forcing his legs down by the weight of his knees. _Finally_ he has time to catch his breath.

Blood from his nose steadily trickles down on the boy beneath him, who, in all his squirming, ends up smearing it across his face like lipstick. Øystein laughs, more specs of red. In his buzzed (from the fight and, more likely, concussion) state of mind this becomes the funniest thing in the world.  
He starts crackling, fully aware of how insane he probably looks.

“JESUS CHRIST, GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME YOU CRAZY ASSHOLE!!” Varg kicks and bucks up against him, but to no avail. While he might have a height advantage, Øystein is still the stronger of the two.

Now, in all honesty, Øystein hadn't really come up with a gameplan jumping into this… didn't think he needed one. He just figured he’d work on improv- rough him up a little, break his teeth in, maybe give him a black eye or two, you know, scare him into leaving him alone for a while and that'd be enough...

Or at least that WOULD'VE BEEN enough… Until one of Varg’s stupid clumsy legs manages to break free and press up into his crotch.

The course of adrenaline, pain, and pressure on his dick must’ve seriously serged the chemical switches in his brain, because all of a sudden something goes horribly wrong and he’s-

“MMnn- _fuckk_.” He groans and grinds down on Varg’s leg before he can think to stop himself.

Varg freezes. Euronymous too.

Reality snaps back into place.

_Oh **Shit.**_

He stares in horror as Varg’s eyes grow wide, his throat bobs, and all color drains from his face… before burning a bright cherry red.  
He glances down and sure enough, he’s fully torqued from the prospect of beating up a half naked Varg... go figure...

The silence drags on as the full implications of the situation settle on both of them.

Fuck. He didn’t have time to reflect on the morality of his sexual urges(although that was clearly becoming a top priority now). He needed a way out of this fast, some excuse or reason to explain it away, _anything._

“I wasn't... I’m not trying to… to… uh...” His voice sounds raspy and unfamiliar. Internally, his brain is tripping over itself in loops trying to come up with any explanation _other than the obvious_ , but lack of oxygen’s made any rational thought impossible. He’s been caught WAY off guard, and the blood pooling in his jeans is calling the full attention of whatever few working brain cells he has left at the moment.

Beneath him Varg is steadily growing restless. Dread growing more and more evident in his eyes by the second.

“...L-let go of me.”

He looks around the room and nervously swallows. He reaaally dug himself in a hole with this one. This was not the direction he had expected this to go whatsoever- in fact he wasn't expecting ANYTHING tonight. He should be asleep right now! If it wasn't for Varg busting through his door he wouldn't even be in this situation in the first place!

Øystein curses himself, panic chewing at his brain.

“ _Please_ let me go Euronymous…p-please, I promise I won't come back here, I'll stay out of Oslo! I’ll give you whatever you want! You’ll never have to see- see me again just _please please don't do this to me please just let me go..._ ” Varg is getting desperate now, frantically tugging at the hold on his arms and bucking up against him. He can hear the echoing squeaks and thuds of his boots kicking behind him, sliding against the linoleum helplessly for any amount of grip he can get.

Jesus christ this was spiralling way out of control fast.

_I mean I'm not ACTUALLY going to do anything to him, am I? That's nuts. I might be a lot of things sure, but I’m not a fucking **rapist**._

Although his painfully tented jeans seem to be in clear contradiction to that…

He looks down at Varg’s face all twisted up in fear and a pang of guilt gnaws at him…

_No, this is WAY too fucked up, even for me._

...But something that's been festering up and stewing for far too long in the back of his head stops him from moving…

All the shit that led up to this, all the stress and anguish this kid’s put him through, images of his face plastered all over the papers, police interrogations, the media following him around, broken friendships, money lost, lies, slander, betrayal… All that and here he was, the single cause of alllll that hell, lying helplessly beneath him... unable to do anything... trapped like a sardine in a crushd tin box… forced to feel the pain he’s been subjected to these last long agonizing months…

“...I’m sorry.”

The moment Øystein’s hands reach for Varg’s belt all hell breaks loose. He’s frantic, wriggling and squealing like a dying animal.

_Shit! This idiots gonna have the fucking cops called to my door!_

Øystein tries his best to cover the kids mouth but it's useless. The kid’s still screaming and kicking at full force in an attempt to get free.

“Stay still! Jesus fucking christ, SHUT UP!!” Frustrated at the lack of compliance, Øystein grabs a fist full of Vargs hair and violently slams his head down into the floor, again, and again.

“I SAID- SHUT- THE FUCK- UP!!”

The room goes silent and he immediately regrets it.

Varg is frozen stiff in fear. He’s petrified, eyes wide, trembling and shaking with big fat tears beginning to roll down his cheeks. His shaky lungs aren't able to properly fill with air, so he’s sucking in fast panicked breaths one after the other, creating the most awful wheezing noise imaginable. He looks terrified out of his mind.

“-fuck, _fuck_ , I fucked up I’m sorry, I shouldnt have done that, shh shh-” Øystein lets go of his hair and attempts to soothe the startled boy, petting his head and speaking in an uncharacteristically gentle tone. Varg chokes and screws his eyes shut, turning his head away as Øystein continues to coddle him.

“-it's okay, it's okay, I’m not gonna hurt you, calm down,” He shushes him awkwardly, running his hand up and down his torso in soothing motions, the same way his mother used to do for him when he was scared as a child. “-just breathe, shhhhh I’m sorry, I know you're scared, I promise I wont do anything to you alright? I won't even touch you. Just… Just go along with me here so this will all be over, and you can leave and we can _both_ pretend this never happened okay?”

_God, I’m sick…_

His chest was shuttering erratically with sobs now, hair mused, face sticky and wet from tears, eyes shut so tight it was like he was trying to curl into himself and disappear.

He feels his cock throb.

_Jesus christ… I need to seek some professional help after this._

Unzipping himself from his jeans, he pauses.

I _said I wouldn't touch him… But it's not like anything is actually stopping me…_

No, he decides, he's not _that_ cruel. Instead he opts to grab Varg’s hand, gently maneuvering it closer towards Øystein’s now exposed and _very_ erect cock.

Varg’s eyes snap open and he starts thrashing around again. Although he’s clearly still exhausted from his previous attempts because he only manages a few moments before going limp once more.

“Shhhhhhh it's alright, it's gonna be okay... you said you wanted to help, remember? So this would all be over and you could go back home?” Øystein continues to speak carefully, albeit a bit more strained and frustrated with his continued lack of corroperation.

This time he waits for a sign of recognition, and after a moment of hesitation he’s rewarded with the tiniest of nods from the boy beneath him.

A genuine smile creeps up on his face and for the first time in his life he feels _truly_ evil.

“Good job, smart boy…”

Spitting into his hand he gives himself a few rough tugs before dragging Varg’s loose apathetic hand to hold under his own.

Øystein draws in a quick breath at the contact and strokes himself into a slow steady rhythm.

“ _Fffffuuuucckkkk_ ……” He closes his eyes and has to seriously concentrate on not immediately ejaculating.  
Varg’s small fingers were a cool relief for his erection that had been painfully chafing in his jeans up until now. He pumps slowly into the makeshift grip, savoring every sweet second of it.

How could a guy's hands be this soft? He feels like a fucking girl. _Any more pressure and my hands might shatter his fingers…_ He moans at the thought of it.

“God, you feel so- so good, hah, you should see yourself, _mmn_ , I should have- should have done this _ages_ ago… who knew you could actually be useful for something?”

Øystein laughs and leans his full weight over the boy, nuzzling up next to his head to whisper in his ear.

“I bet you’re getting off on this too, don't lie... You try and act so tough but deep down everyone- haah, everyone knows all you really want is attention...”

Varg chokes on another wet sob and it sends shivers down his spine. His cock twitches and pulses in response and a sick joy runs through him knowing Varg must've felt that too.

“Mmmnnn, yeah that’s it, good job, such a good boy...”

Feeling himself coming close, he picks up the pace. He squeezes hard, knuckles turning white, and thrusts ruthlessly against Vargs limp body like a wild animal.

He feels euphoric, like a god, high off the power of knowing _he_ did this, that this is _his_ work… _He_ was the one who reduced the oh so highly composed _Count Grishnackh_ down to nothing! It was _him_ who tore down that self entitled pretentious facade… _He_ broke him down, destroyed him,turned him into the weeping puddle of filth he is now!

“ _F-fuck._ ”

…

Three last long pulls and he’s spilling himself all over Varg’s pale quivering stomach.

His orgasm hits _hard_ , so hard he nearly passes out from the shock of it. His eyes roll up into his skull and he seizes uncontrollably, forcing him to hold onto the counter above him to not fall over.

God knows how much time he spends there, mindlessly rutting against Vargs stomach, mind blank and buzzing in the warm afterglow...

Eventually though, when his breathing starts to settle and his thrusting stops, his eyelids crack open.

Varg is so completely and utterly disgraced beneath him he’s almost unrecognizable.  
His face is turned down and away in shame, sticky and swollen with snot and tears. His hair is a mess and he's breathing fast, heavy, and uneven with the occasional hitch of a sob. His skin is flushed bright pink all the way down to his stomach, which is bruised, scratched up, and painted ugly in thick wads of cum. _That's my cum..._  
He looks absolutely obscene, and Øystein, in his hazy delirium, has the gall to feel a little grossed out by it.  
His eyes trail down further.  
There's an unmistakable bulge in the front Varg’s pants. _Huh…_

Somehow that's enough to pull his brain together.

“FUCK!” Øystein scrambles to get off of Varg so fast he nearly trips over his feet on the way out of the room. He runs straight down the hall to his bedroom and without looking back, slams the door and locks it behind him.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck…” He leans against the door and frantically zips up his pants.

His life was over. This was it. He was fucking done for.

“ _FUCK!!!_ ” He pulls on his hair and slides to the floor.

_Holy shit, what did I just **do**?! What the actual fuck is wrong with me? What if he tells someone- GOD What if he’s out there calling the cops right now- Wait, can I actually get arrested for something like this?? I mean he's a **guy** \- and it's not like RAPED him or anything… FUCK. Either way, I’m so screwed, I’m done for, Mayhem, Helvete, everything I've spent the last 10 years working on, EVERYTHING done for…_

Tears begin to well up and sting his eyes. He closes them shut and breathes, forcing himself to swallow it down.

_One thing at a time Øystein, one thing at a time…_

With one last deep breath he opens his eyes, gets up from the floor, brushes his pants off, unlocks his door and steps out into the hallway.

It’s completely silent.

He cautiously makes his way down the hall towards the living room, his ears straining to pick up on any noise besides his own creaking footsteps.

Entering the kitchen, he’s surprised to see it completely empty, left exactly the way it had been before Varg came around. For a moment he is able to convince himself it was all in his head. That maybe it was just some fucked up dream he had after passing out on the couch...

But as he turns back into the living room a particular book left on his coffee table catches his eye, shattering his temporary illusion.

“Oh god... I’m so fucking screwed.”

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I was clearly just throwing my penis on my keyboard and letting it dribble all over the place with this one. (also side note I couldn't stop thinking of the bird nut meme while typing the end of this and it took sooooo much will power not to throw that in there lmao... be thankful I have some self control....)


End file.
